


the long way home

by macalla



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-04 20:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18820420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macalla/pseuds/macalla
Summary: A year after the attack on King's Landing, Jaime makes his way to Winterfell to set things right.





	the long way home

Now that I found you I don't have a choice  
With or without you I don't have a choice

  
Gone with the weather  
Nothing ever lasts forever

\- Chairlift, “Cool As A Fire”

 

———

 

The world crumbled to dust around him; his sister wrapped her arms gently around him, clinging, with a softness long gone, to him, to the smallest chance that they might survive. Dust filled his lungs, swarmed his vision. The last thing he saw before the world vanished—

A startling blue.

 

———

 

It wasn’t the end. The gods—fools, the lot of them for choosing him over everyone else they could have spared today—had, for reasons unknown to him, let him live.

The destruction had given way to an eerie quiet, and a stillness, one he could sense went on for miles.; an absence of life and of hope, in the wake of the dragon queen’s chaos, that made him question whether he really was alive, or whether this was actually hell. It was a cold hell, he had thought before he came to the disappointing realization that he was still alive. Bleeding out in this too quiet place, trapped underneath ashes and soot and fallen walls—he would have preferred a quick, painful death by dragon’s fire to this coldness any day. The sun felt a million miles away, his past life farther. His brief time as a man with honor, his journey to the north, the few nights during which he felt something like peace, wrapped up in—

Jaime pushed up on a piece of a broken column that had fallen over him horizontally. It had saved him, that block, holding up a number of heavy pieces that else threatened to crush him. His arms trembled as he pushed with what little strength he had left, and the wounds in his stomach ached; he could feel the sticky blood leaking from them, cool on his skin. He inched himself sideways and, eventually, out from underneath the column, bracing himself with a hand over his head for any pieces that threatened to fall from his movements.

Cersei was dead. He had somehow forgotten this, amidst trying to escape while simultaenously questioning why he had been made to life, questioning why should he even live. He turned back toward where she lay, peaceful as he had ever seen her. There were tracks of tears still on her cheeks, having erased a layer of white dust where they trickled down.

He had deserved to die with her.

Jaime took off his golden hand and lay it to rest with her, and continued on his way out of the collapsed keep, his feet moving inexplicably forward.

 

———

 

The city was a desert of grey against the backdrop of the misty sea. A day or so seems to have past since the attack—there was no way to tell how long he’d been asleep in the ruins of the Red Keep. Time almost seemed to have stopped here. The only signs that it moved forward still were the distant waves crashing at the shore, the birds flying overhead to and from the sea, the occasional rodent scavenging through the city’s ashes.

Oh, but the sea was alive, and vibrant, and blue. It never wavered.

Jaime made his way to the dock Tyrion had told him about. There wasn’t a soul in sight to keep him from his destination. In what could have been twenty minutes or several hours—as exhausted as he was, and in such a barren landscape, time was hard to keep track of—he was at the shoreline, hoisting himself into a small sailboat, and setting off.

After untying the rope that pinned the boat to the docks, he never looked back at the city again.

 

———

 

He never expected to be this far north again. He almost didn’t come. After he got the letter from Tyrion, he argued with himself for days about whether or not it was the right thing to do, returning to Winterfell.

 _Thank you for writing to me. I’m so happy to hear that you’re alive,_ Tyrion had said. _And I know you’re probably staying out of the way, keeping yourself hidden—the whole new life thing. And I wish you the best in that new life. But I thought best to let you know, not knowing how much you’ve picked up on your travels, how things are going, for your sake…._

Jaime had skipped the brief chatter of Tyrion’s new life and the rebuilding of King’s Landing, his eyes drawn to the last paragraphs.

 _Ser_ _Brienne is still in Winterfell, working with Lady Sansa, the Queen in the North. I don’t know how long she plans on staying. She may return to Tarth sooner or later to step in as the Evenstar. She and Sansa are still figuring things out. I spoke to her once, when I thought you were dead. I told her what you told me, the day before King’s Landing. About keeping her safe, your regrets about leaving the way you did. I don’t know if she believed me. I also told her what I saw with my own eyes, which is that you two loved each other very much. I’m telling you all this because you have the choice now, to go and see her, and let her know for herself. I doubt you’ll be able to stay in Winterfell, but perhaps it would give you some peace of mind to be able to finally explain yourself fully to her._

_If you do make your way to Winterfell, present the sealed letter I’ve attached with this one, signed by me allowing you entry. Tell them you’re a friend of Podrick Payne working for me, tasked with delivering to him something important. I’ve gone through him because I couldn’t be sure Brienne would have agreed to any pre-existing arrangement like this. But I’ve let Podrick know. He and Brienne both know now that you are alive, but I don’t think she expects to ever see you again._

_I hope to hear from you again someday._

A month later he found himself steering his boat to shore, handing over the ropes to his boat to a boy at White Harbor and setting off for the hills that led to Winterfell.

It was springtime, nearing summer. The north was lush and renewed. Along the hillsides tall grass swayed in the soft winds. Gone were the frozen fields, the chill that pierced you down to the bone. Now the hills smelled of soft earth and flowers, and where before it had been hidden beyond clouds of rain and snow, the sun shone over the land, its golden rays drenching the hills in a long awaited hopefulness.

He took in the soft blue of the sky and the echoes of the wind as he walked. The sleeve of his shirt hung loosely over the space where his hand was missing, his golden hand long gone. He kept meaning to find a replacement for it, something less showy, but always forgot to get around to it.

Winterfell stood proudly and powerfully, restored to perhaps even beyond its former glory during the past year. All traces of the Long Night seemed to have melted away like the winter snow. Funny, how it was only little more than a year ago, that he fought side by side with them against an army of dead men. Only a year since he had celebrated with them, laughed with them; it felt so much more distant, like the part of him severed with a knife long ago. He could still remember the pain of losing it, and sometimes for brief moments he still forgot he had no right hand to use; but it was no longer with him, on him, it was far, far away, disintegrated, dissolved into the earth. And like his hand, gone were his days of honor, the happiness of having found, having been found.

Everything was distant, except for Brienne.

He tried to push her away; he tried to push her to a place deep inside of him where he wouldn’t be able to reach; so that he wouldn’t reach, not at the memories, not at the hope that he might be able to find forgiveness from her.

But it hadn’t been enough. For as long gone as his old life felt, Brienne was everlasting within him, and as much as he tried to push all thoughts of her away, she pushed back stubbornly. She was always there, reminding him of the man he could have been; the man she saw. Her eyes, bright blue; her mouth, smiling; her hands, gentle and strong; soft phrases, whispered, about honor and oaths; leading him forward, through the mud and through the dust towards somewhere brighter, cutting away enemies that threatened them with swift strokes of Oathkeeper.

In another world, they could have been grand.

In this world, he only hoped to give her the closure she’s surely been missing ever since that dreadful night. And then, they would, as they always did, say their farewells, and hope to meet again.

Jaime approached the gate to Winterfell with a grin on his face, waving at the guards who approached him curiously. “Greetings,” he said, shoving Tyrion’s scroll at them. “I’m here to meet with a Podrick Payne. I’ve been sent by Lord Tyrion. Here’s his letter and seal.”

 

———

 

Brienne carried herself differently. Her hair wasn’t curled back as sharply, but hung in soft waves, framing her face; it wasn't unkempt, but a bit less rigid than her old hairstyle, and a bit longer. In contrast, her clothing was sharper and darker, seeming to compliment the fierce black wardrobe of Sansa Stark; perhaps the lady Sansa had even made the clothes herself, like she had her own. Brienne’s dark grey top resembled the one she used to wear under her armor, but the soft hues of blue were absent. Gone was the set of armor crafted by Lannister smiths in the capital, in its place a black coat that beared the symbol of her true loyalty: a direwolf, etched in elegant strokes upon the right side of her chest. The coat fit her well, made her shoulders look broad and strong.

Only two small hints of color adorned her. The first, a simple crescent moon stitched in blue on her left sleeve; the second, the red and gold on the hilt of Oathkeeper, which she, despite having forgone anything else that might have kept her tied to a past she wished to leave behind, lay loyally in its sheath at her waist.

She stepped side by side with Podrick through the clearing towards Jaime, who sat patiently in a small, empty grove near the north entrance of the castle, a single guard watching over him. When she caught sight of him, she noticably froze for the briefest of moments, but then resumed walking towards him; her eyes were directed towards him, but she wasn’t truly looking at him. She was away in her eyes, looking at nothing, all emotion that they used to hesitantly give away now either skillfully suppressed or completely vanquished altogether. Podrick’s eyes were not so stoic. He and Brienne had gotten ever closer over the years, and a desire to protect his knight from what was sure to be pain was written in the lowering of his eyebrows, the fierce and unfaltering gaze that caused Jaime to gulp.

They stopped a good couple of meters away from Jaime. From his seated position on a short ledge, Brienne appeared to tower over him more than ever; that and the newfound hardness in her eyes, the way she stood with a firm confidence and a squared back, in her hand’s tight grip on Oathkeeper, made her menacing and powerful in a way Jaime wasn’t used to. She had always carried herself with a softness underneath her power, a quiet compassion in the bright blue of her eyes, however sternly she might have gazed. Her eyes were as brilliant a blue as ever, blue like a sea he could so easily drown himself in, but today, their brightness was only cold. The kind of sea that would drown _him,_ before he could even think of leaping into the waters himself.

Brienne and Podrick synchronously nodded at the disinterested guard, who took off trudging through the trees back towards the main castle. The jolt of fear that prickled Jaime when Brienne directed her eyes back towards him caused him to jump up onto his feet. He opened his mouth to greet them, but for all the days he spent rehearsing what to say, nothing would come.

Brienne and Podrick glanced at one another, and Brienne gave the subtlest of nods to her squire. Podrick turned to Jaime, seeming ready to say something, but then spun around and headed back towards the castle silently.

And it was only them.

It wasn’t at all how he had imagined it to be, though he had imagined it a thousand different ways. How could he have thought he was worthy to be here, to see her, after everything?

“Forgive him for the rude behavior,” Brienne said coolly, breaking the silence, “but he has reason to be a bit distrustful.”

“As you all do,” Jaime replied. One sentence in and he felt out of breath, heart racing, thumping loudly in his ears. He gulped, taking a deep breath. “I…you look good, Brienne. I’m happy to see you.”

Brienne examined him once over with a chilly gaze. “Why are you hear, Jaime?” she asked quietly. The lack of formality surprised him, not because it was done maliciously but because it reminded him of the way she spoke to him for those few weeks before he left, the brief period in time when he was someone beyond titles and expectations and hearsay; when he was just him.

“After everything,” Jaime said, “I owe you an explanation.”

Brienne stepped forward. “Have you considered,” she began, “that I don’t want an explanation? That nothing you say to me now will matter? Everything that happened…it’s all over. It’s been over a year. Winterfell has been rebuilt. The war in King’s Landing is far behind us. We’ve all moved on.” If it was a lie, her eyes didn’t give it away.

“I haven’t,” Jaime replied. “I—it haunts me, every day, what I did.”

“I’m not here to listen to you confess your sins and tell you everything is still okay. I don’t owe you that.”

“You don’t owe me anything. It’s the opposite.” Jaime scratched his fingers against the palm of his hand, trying to get it to stop trembling. “I owe you so much, Brienne, too much to repay in one lifetime, but I’m here to try and begin to, so please—please hear me out. Listen to me, please, and then curse me, send me away, cut me down right here if you must. I only want to say what I should have a long time ago.”

Brienne sighed softly, eyes darting towards the ground. Her fingertips danced lightly over Oathkeeper’s golden pommel as she contemplated his words. “Say it, then.” When she looked back up, her eyes were glistening; the coldness was gone, but pain leaked through. An old and exhausted pain, aching dully.

“You were—you _are—_ the truest and kindest soul in the Seven Kingdoms. The only person who ever made me feel like I could become better than I was, who made me feel worthy of being a knight again, worthy of being…anything. I dreamed of so many futures with you, fighting by your side until the end of our days. I wanted nothing more than that. So badly, I wanted to stay with you.

“But I knew I didn’t deserve that. Not after everything I’d done. It kept pulling on me like a hand around my throat, suffocating me. I was so happy to be with you, to see you smiling, free, relaxed, for the first time. But when I closed my eyes the hand was always there, getting tighter and tighter, and I didn’t—I couldn’t break free from it, Brienne,” his voice wavered and he had to stop and catch a breath. All he could see were her eyes, wet with tears but remaining strong in the face of his confession, hardened since their last confrontation where they begged and pleaded. He felt outside of himself, now, speaking to her, and the sound of his voice seemed to come from a far away place. “I couldn’t break free,” he repeated. “I wasn’t strong enough for that.

“What I did to you, there is nothing that I’ve done that I regret more. And I didn’t come here for your forgiveness. I don’t expect it and I don’t deserve it. But I wanted to apologize nonetheless. I want you to know I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it. I don’t think I can be the man you used to see in me. I wish I could. I’m not sure who I am anymore, but I want…to do what that man might have done.

Brienne stood ever firmly, silently, letting him speak. Loose strands of blonde hair strayed sideways across her cheek with the gentle wind.

“The other thing I want you to know—what I should have told you a long time ago. I love you, Brienne of Tarth. More than I’ve loved anyone. You’re in my soul. You’ve never left. You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever known.”

A tear escaped down Brienne’s cheek; Jaime fought the impulse to rush to her, to take her in his arms, to wipe the tears away. He silently watched her search her mind for the right words, fighting off tears of his own.

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Brienne finally asked. Her voice was calm, quiet, almost a whisper.

Jaime shook his head, looking towards the ground in shame. “I couldn’t break free,” he repeated, equally quiet.

“I was angry,” Brienne told him. “When Tyrion told me you were alive after all. I thought, once he made that choice, once he returned to his family, maybe he was better off dead. I’d spent so long alone with the weight of your betrayal and my grief, how was it fair that this whole time you were alive, sailing around the world, free of any consequences? I didn’t think you deserved it.

“I didn’t think you would come back here. I didn’t think you cared enough to. I thought…” she shook her head as if to try and force away the tears, “that it had all been meaningless to you.”

“It meant more than anything,” Jaime said. “You did.”

“I’m still so angry, Jaime.”

“I know.” He took a hesitant step forward; they were only a few feet apart now, close enough for him to reach his hand out and take hers, if he wasn’t sure she’d flinch away from him. Despite himself, his arm floated out towards her, but not quite reaching her.

Brienne glanced down at his hand, and then turned slightly away from him. “Come with me,” she said, voice wavering slightly. “I have something for you.”

 

———

 

She led him past the castle gate, through the courtyard and a long, winding series of hallways that took them to the other side of the castle. Jaime followed quietly behind Brienne as they winded through crowds of young soldiers with practice swords laughing together; kitchen hands carrying bags of grain and boxes of salted meats; traders and wanderers entering and departing the castle grounds, pulling their horses alongside. They entered a separate tower of the castle; if Jaime’s memory served, Brienne’s room was on the bottom floor.

They didn’t stop in Brienne’s room, however, and kept going down the hall and up a dimly lit staircase to the second level. Here, Brienne stopped at the first door past the staircase and knocked loudly three times. Upon hearing no response, she opened the door slightly, peeked in, and then swung it open fully. She turned to gesture with her arms for Jaime to enter. “It’s Podrick’s room,” she answered the confusion probably plastered on his face.

“Have you decided to let him kill me after all, then? It looked like he wanted to,” Jaime quipped, regretting it instantly. But unless his eyes were decieving him, Brienne’s mouth quirked upwards in the smallest smiles despite the out of place joke.

“He’s been holding onto something for me.” Brienne strided over to Podrick’s closet and began to ruffle through it. “Well—I told him to get rid of it for me, but I’m fairly certain he held onto it anyways—ah.”

Widow’s Wail.

Hidden away underneath a pile of dusty books and spare armour. Brienne pulled it out gently and brushed off the hilt. The once golden sword was dusty and unpolished; it was like him, greying and forgotten. Brienne held it between them for him to take.

“I thought you might have thrown it away, melted it down. Both of them.” Jaime gently gripped the hilt, feeling the cold metal with his thumb.

Brienne smiled sadly down at Oathkeeper. “I…part of me wanted to. But I couldn’t. It's too much a part of me, now.” 

They locked eyes briefly, feeling the weight of that statement heavy between them. “I, however, have no use for this sword,” Jaime told her, breaking the stiff silence. “My fighting days are over. It should stay here, in Winterfell. It came from here after all. Just as yours did.” He offered the sword back to her. “Give it to Lady Sansa to hold on to, or another knight, if there’s anyone worthy.”

“There’s no one else.” Brienne glanced at him somberly, then looked back to the sword. She took it and turned sharply away, hiding her sad eyes.

 

———

 

Brienne left the sword back in its old place in Podrick’s closet for the time being, and led him back out into the courtyard. He could stay the night, she said, but would have to set off again in the morning. He could stay in the stables; a meal would be delivered to him; she would see him off at dawn.

She left him to find his way to the stables, and disappeared around a corner back towards the main castle. Over the courtyard the sunset cast an orange glow; the winds rustled the sparse leaves of trees that were still recovering from the rampage of the long night, one of the few rare reminders left of its treachery; knee-high weeds and flowers, blue and white, quicker to regrow after the destruction, also swayed softly in small dirt patches near the walls. Jaime stood, unnoticed, taking it all in, trying to memorize the details. It was something he tried to do now sometimes, in this new life, to pause for moments, to notice, and paint what surrounded him in his mind. It brought moments of peace. But as hard as he stared at the swaying flowers or the silken clouds drifting against the backdrop of orange and purple sky, his mind wandered back to the tears in Brienne’s soft blue eyes, to the coldness in them, and the hurt in them.

 

———

 

Brienne was dressed the same when she met him again at the gate the next day, save for her belt and weapons which she’d left behind. Although she was still frowning, her eyes weren’t as cold and guarded as they’d been when she first approached him yesterday, and she left less room between them as she walked up. Jaime dropped his arms from where he’d been tying his bag onto the horse they’d given him for the journey back to the harbor and turned to greet her.

“A beautiful morning,” he commented, glancing up at where the sun was beginning to peek out from beyond a distant patch of trees, where color was leaking into the day.

Brienne nodded curtly. Without Oathkeeper to grip, she kept her arms folded awkardly across her, unsure of what else to do with them. She seemed at a lack for words; Jaime felt the same. He had said all he needed to say yesterday. Not all he _wanted_ to say, for that would take days upon days, perhaps the rest of his life, he might have enough words to fill it with how sorry he was and how much he loved her, but what he _needed_ to say, he believes he got done. He never thought about the after, about what would happen when he was done speaking his words. Now she was before him, about to say her final words to him and then turn away, and that would be that; the end, the true end, of their story. Being on the prepicice of that felt like heavy iron sitting in his chest, pushing against his lungs. It was hard to breathe.

“I said yesterday that I was angry at you,” Brienne told him, her blue eyes piercing him with some sort of despair or longing or both, “but in the end, I’m glad you’re alive. And I’m glad you came here.”

“Me too.” Jaime smiled softly. They stood in the growing dawn, held at arms length, frozen in time. In those brilliant blue eyes of her, he’d always be frozen, and lost, and found.

And then the sea came crashing down, and she broke. “Jaime,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly, and then they were in each other’s arms, clinging to each other to stay afloat. She smelled like soft earth and gentle spring rain; her touch was cool but holding her filled him with warmth, a warmth he’d been missing since the night he raced away from Winterfell. Jaime buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist; Brienne gripped the fabric of his shirt tightly, weeping into the side of his neck.

Minutes later, Brienne pulled slightly away, dragging her hands gently down the front of his shirt, hair falling in front of her face as she ducked her head sorrowfully. Jaime kept her close with a hand on the side of her face, rubbing at her cheek lightly with his thumb and then brushing her hair aside. She closed her eyes with a sigh, as if she were asleep and this was a dream she didn’t ever want to wake up from. He touched softly her eyelids, her cheeks, still damp with tears, her lips. She leaned forward into his touch; Jaime fell into her, closed his eyes, felt her forehead against his, sucked in a desperate breath—

Brienne put a hand back on his chest, stopping him.

“It’s over, then, isn’t it,” Jaime asked, “our story? You and I.” He took her hand in his against his chest. For all they could not act on, neither wanted to let the other go.

Brienne opened her eyes and as they weaved their fingers together, she nodded sadly, unsmiling.

“I think it is,” she said.

“But we had a good one, didn’t we?” He had intended to sound humorous, but something sharp stung in his throat, choking him, and his voice came out strained and sad. “As far as stories go. One for the history books, I think. The adventures of the Lady Knight of the Sapphire Isle and the infamous one-handed Kingslayer. Your squire should write a song. I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused you, Brienne. I’m sorry for how I’ve tainted your knighthood, your honor. You deserve a story free of my poisoning.”

“Don’t apologize,” she said. “I wouldn’t change it. Even now, looking back—those adventures with you were the best parts of my life.”

“You still have much of life to live.”

Brienne didn’t have a response for that. She gazed at him through tear-filled eyes, stroking his hand with her thumb, and then enveloped him once more in a tight hug.

“Don’t forget me, Jaime,” she whispered. “Promise you won’t.”

“Forget you? I would sooner forget my own name.”

 

———

 

She stood like a gilded statue, enveloped in the scattered shadows of tree leaves swaying in the morning wind, watching him as he trotted off through the gate and back down the green winter fields towards the sea. He looked back at her several times as he rode away, trying to etch this final image of her deep in his memories. Ahead of him, the expanse of green grew bigger, and the distant blue sea appeared as a thin stripe on the horizon. A final time, before he was too far to see her clearly, he turned to her, whispering to her words she couldn’t hear. “Goodbye, Brienne.” She whispered back to him, he swore she did, and she lifted her head up high as if to get a good long look at him. Then she turned and disappeared through the castle gate. Jaime turned back towards the sea, let his eyes get lost in the hopeful blueness of it, let it carry him forward as he journeyed toward the next chapter of his story. He had time left in his life, too, and he had a great many things to set right before he could let it end.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \- my first but hopefully not last jaime x brienne fic. fell in love with them over the past half a year only for my heart to be shattered! both characters deserved better.
> 
> \- i didn't really edit this at all so hopefully it wasn't too awful
> 
> \- i changed the characterization of jaime from episode 5 as i think most people have.
> 
> \- even taking into consideration the changed characterization here, i feel that it would be very hard for their relationship to recover from what happened, however much they might love each other.
> 
> \- i do however, think perhaps, down the road, maybe they’d meet again, by chance or not, and they’d just…find each other again. somehow. even if for only another brief moment. i may write another fic where they meet maybe another year in the future, when brienne is the evenstar and jaime is…still wandering, but perhaps more situated in who he is as a person… and they get together. i can’t decide whether at this point they would stay together or leave each other behind tragically, once again. the angst person in me thinks sometimes that is the truest love you can have, that happy endings aren’t real, that it’s only happy moments, temporary, that you have to leave behind at some point. and maybe that’s all we can ever hope for. in summary, this ship has me wrecked.


End file.
